Flatlined
by verbal acuity
Summary: Future AU - Kirihara's a teenager pocketing expensive computers throughout cyber Japan. He gets into trouble in Tokyo and tries to run before the cyber organizations get him. What's he gotten himself into? - rated for language. May change later.


Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis.

Notes: Future AU. All teams except the insignificant ones (like the ones that never got Tenimyu'd, sorry). Multi-chaptered. Don't kill me. And I've never really... tried to write a whole story in present tense, tell me if I should bail right now. Thanks.

Warnings: Language, definitely. Adult themes, maybe. Violence, later. In progress, that is, if anyone _likes_ it. If not, I guess I could bail on this idea. xD

Anyway, here's chapter one.

* * *

FLATLINED

He's never needed anyone else before. He never _had_ anyone in the first place. Why would he start now? A sixteen year old troublemaker out on the streets-- a rat-- untamed, unheard, un_spoken_. He rarely ever voices his problems, be it to himself, or the black cat nuzzling into his calf in the alleyway he's taken shelter in. He doesn't care. He gets by in life just fine, carrying his goods everywhere with him: the computers he's fingered from the various cyber-cafes he often stays in, away from the rain.

Never has he stayed in one place for too long. He attracts attention easily: a filthy teenager, soaked to the bone, carrying an expensive Mac through the busy lit streets of cyber-Tokyo? There is no that that's possible.

Japan has given way to the cyber world. Nothing is left unprogrammed. Communications are easier nowadays, through expensive gadgets easily hidden in everyday items: glasses, earrings, liprings. Kirihara Akaya hates it. He just wants to rip out the earrings and liprings, crush the people on the subways' glasses until they shut the fuck up. It's bad enough having to deliver the shit to some no-name that he's had a bad run-in with when he was leaving-- well, _trying_ to leave-- Tokyo, after he stole a rather expensive handheld computer.

Now he was stuck here, in the pits of Hell in cyber-Tokyo, runnings fucking _errands_ for a prissy bitch from some organization he's never even heard of. What the fuck is Hyoutei, anyway?

--

He slams the chip onto the table, causing a loud echo as the various rings on his fingers clatter against the metal. "There. There's your fucking chip! Where's my pay?" he asks. His normally bright green eyes are now a haunting red, almost bloodshot, as he glares at the man who's sent him to Hell and back. He's tired of this game.

The man on the other side of the table chuckles and waves his wrist. "Alright, alright," he says and takes a metal box from the drawer, his eyes on the younger boy. "You know, kid... I am surprised you've not asked me about this yet." The chip dangles in his ring-clad fingers. "No curiosity to what you may have just caused the future safety of Tokyo?"

Kirihara raises an eyebrow. Why would he care about Tokyo? He is leaving as soon as he gets paid. He doesn't need to express concern for the people that have caused nothing but trouble for him. "No." His voice sounds strained, tired. He's not slept in days for fear of being betrayed by a man he didn't even trust in the first place. He trusts no one. There is no need for trust. All he needs is himself and a ticket out of cyber-Tokyo. Too many enemies. He's hated by quite a few people...

Though he has still yet to figure out what (who) Hyoutei is. So far, the only organization he knows of is Seigaku. And even then... he knows nothing but the fact that Tezuka Kunimitsu scares the shit out of him. Those encounters were the worst he's ever dealt with.

"Mm... Have it your way," the voice without a face sounds so maniacal, so devious, and Kirihara doesn't like it, not at all. The man chuckles, a high-pitched, annoying kind of chuckle; one that fits in no way with this man's cruel streak. He's sadistic, and the worst is... he is the lowest in rank to all the other Hyoutei members (1). The troublemaker still has yet to meet another Hyoutei follower. He hopes he won't have to anytime soon.

Kirihara slams his fist into the table again. "I'm fucking tired of this game! Who are you, and who is your mysterious fucking leader?"

Another chuckle, and then:

"I cannot tell you either of those, Kirihara-kun, my superior will have my head. You may go," he says and hands over the younger boy's pay, rings glimmering in the light. Kirihara growls and snatches the money quickly from the feminine hand, turns around and stops at the door.

"I'll find out who your superior and leader are, bastard. But I'll do it outside of this shithole."

And with that, he leaves the room, the door slamming behind him. He needs to get the fuck out of Tokyo.

--

He knows Tokyo well. He's been stuck here for weeks, listening to a man without a face, just to stay the fuck alive. He has never lived in fear; he's not afraid. A kid who lives on the streets for the majority of his life lives with no regrets, with no fear. He doesn't have the time or the heart for it.

The backstreets and alleys were his best bet to get to the underground stores he's been trying to finger items from. Now he doesn't have to: the rich bastard from Hyoutei paid him well for his services-- for the doom of cyber-Tokyo. He can finally get a gun. Knives are useless in a gunfight, and all he has are knives; they were all he had the ability to pocket when sifting through the only part of Tokyo that hasn't given in to the cyber world: Underground.

They know his purpose for lurking, but they don't know his name. It was a mistake even to tell stuck-up asshole his name. But he knows better now. And he'll be more careful in the long-run, outside of Tokyo.

He cuts through the sidestreets, conscious of the wad of money in his pocket, careful. It's all he's got, and he needs a gun, clothes, and a train ticket. There isn't much time.

The people in Tokyo underground sink back into their stores, eyes watching; they know him, know what he's capable of. They know he can snap (he has previously), and they want nothing to do with it. It's safe to stay out of the line of fire.

"I need a gun," he says when he stops at the sketchy man with blond hair's (2) shop. He doesn't trust, he doesn't care. A gun's a gun, and then he's gone.

The sketchy man (dressed too nice to be as creepy as he really is) chuckles and lowers his designer sunglasses from his eyes momentarily -- why he needs sunglasses in the dark underground, Kirihara doesn't question. "You got money, kid? Or are you gonna try to run off with my goods again, like last time?" Everyone is watching, but he doesn't pay mind. The wad of cash comes out of his pocket and he slams it down onto the table. The man inspects it then grins. "I see. Come back here, I'll show you what I got."

He doesn't ask for ID. He couldn't care less about some punk with a knack to kill. As long as he doesn't shoot up the Underground, he's fine selling his goods for a price, no matter the age.

"Got any idea what you want, kid?" he asks, finger picking up dust on some of the barrels. "I ain't giving you a lesson on what's what. You come here, you know your shit, got it?"

Kirihara nods, eyeing the room. "I can't take big shit with me on a train. Something small." He stops and settles on a .45 ACP, six rounds. Import. Though everything in Japan now is imported, so it isn't like it actually matters. How the man had managed to smuggle them here, now that is what matters. "This," he says after a moment, lightly touching the trigger. "How much?"

The man smirks and reaches his hand to take the weapon, inspecting it's condition. "Hm... 5000 yen," he says and hands it back. Kirihara takes the gun back and glares at the man. Whether it's an import or not, he's not paying that much. He has enough money, sure, but the weapon isn't worth it.

"2500," he says in return.

"4000--"

"3000, any higher, no deal."

"Fine," the sketchy salesman says. "3000 yen it is."

Kirihara grins and hands him the money. "What else you got?"

--

In an alleyway, Kirihara leans against a dumpster and opens his backpack. He's got a .45 ACP, 9mm, and a shitload of ammo stored in it. He grins and fingers the goggles around his neck-- yellow and black-- then puts them on. A cord adapts the handheld device to his goggles, and he presses a button near the right lens; his body goes limp against the dumpster. Light zooms by him and he floats through a matrix, stopping where he needs to be. He's gotta get out of Tokyo, and fast, before he's caught by someone else from the cyber alliances he's come in contact with so far. According to the 'Net, there's one more alliance in Tokyo, of which he's not run into. He could be in trouble.

"Shit," he mutters when he comes to. "Rain."

He gets up, shoving his handheld into his bag, and puts up his hood, goggles already pulled back around his neck. The train station isn't too far. If he runs, he can make it in time to buy a ticket and get the hell out of here.

Bolting out of the alleyway, something pushes him back. He groans from his place on the cold, wettening cement. "What the fuck..." he says and looks up. Long blond hair is the first thing he notices and he curses under his breath (3). From the way the guy was dressed, there was no way that he was from Hyoutei or Seigaku. Who the hell is he? If he's one of the unknown underground alliance, Kirihara's in deep shit. He is not prepared for this war.

* * *

End Notes: Questions, comments, concerns? Please let me know.

(1) Any idea who that is? Hint: he's useless.

(2) Idea? Hint: he's creepy. And old.

(3) Know who he is? It's not hard to figure out.


End file.
